


Please (Don't) Keep in Touch

by leporidae



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Cisco Ramon, Cisco Ramon is Vibe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hartley Rathaway Being an Asshole, M/M, Post-Crisis on Infinite Earths Crossover Event (CW DC TV Universe), Retcon, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: You were full of it then, and you're full of it now.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West, Cisco Ramon/Hartley Rathaway, Killer Frost/Kamilla Hwang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Please (Don't) Keep in Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a complete overhaul of the second half of S6, keeping some of the base plot points intact but going my own way with it. It is best viewed as an alternate timeline of post-Crisis Earth-Prime, and things are different because I can. 
> 
> The Hartley I'm writing is more in line with S1/S2 (pre-retcon) in the sense that he's 1. still a loner 2. still an asshole and 3. still lives every day with agonizing tinnitus. However, I'm also keeping his ability to create sonic screams from S6, because I want to explore the potential drawbacks. Also, they're cool. 
> 
> This is also a timeline where Cisco developed the metahuman cure but didn't take it himself, so he's still Vibe.
> 
> (As an aside, this fic is dedicated to [my best bro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoncanvas21) who has watched this entire show with me over the past six years, and who is probably the only other person on the planet as excited about this fic as I am.)
> 
> Tags will update gradually as the fic updates.

The murmur of voices at a cafe, running together like water through sand. The ticking of a clock, second by second, methodical footsteps through time. The chime of a cash register. The rustling of leaves in the wind. The click of high heels on office floors.

All these are sounds meant to be experienced separately.

Hartley Rathaway has never had that luxury.

 _Correction:_ Hartley Rathaway _used_ to have that luxury before the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator exploded and demolished his eardrums along with the remainder of his already steadily-declining life. He has one Harrison Wells to thank for that, the man whose praise raised him high during his lowest points, only for his betrayal to lower him further than he’d ever thought possible.

Without his hearing aids, Hartley hears everything at once, a shrill ringing beyond any torture any mortal man should have to endure. As much as Hartley would like to elevate himself above mortals, it doesn’t stop the wave of sounds from crashing over him, deafening him; nor does it stop the way his body curls into itself when he removes his hearing aids, fingernails digging into his arms and folded legs spasming against his chest.

Even with them, the ringing never really stops. Six years of barely-endurable pain after being stripped of his career, while people like Barry Allen (obviously the Flash) and Cisco-fucking-Ramon (even more obviously Vibe) get to prance around the city as heroes — and working directly out of S.T.A.R. Labs, just to mock him further. Six years ago fate had given him the metaphorical middle finger and bestowed unimaginable power upon all his enemies, and Hartley had been forced to do nothing. He sat back and let it happen.

Hartley hates feeling powerless.

He’s kept himself out of the public eye for years, simply because he doesn’t want to be thrown back in the S.T.A.R. Labs Pipeline again like a rabid dog escaped from his cage. The Flash has had plenty of his own problems to deal with, anyway: the debacle with Clifford DeVoe (Hartley’s confident he could have outsmarted the man if he cared enough to try); the serial killer Cicada (Hartley hadn’t been on his list of targets, and what Orlin Dwyer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him); not to mention the strange arrival and disappearance of XS, the speedster who was definitely the child of Barry Allen (just the thought is enough to make Hartley gag). 

Unfortunately, something had happened to put him back on Team Flash’s radar. Perhaps Barry had hit a slow spot in his hero career, or he had passed the honeymoon phase of his relationship with Iris West and didn’t have anything better to do. Whatever the reason, the Flash had suddenly shown up during one of his looting sprees that was _supposed_ to be covert. And if the Flash is after him again, that means the game is back on. 

He wonders whether his sonic blasts or Cisco’s _vibes_ would prove stronger in a fight.

Even as the pain in his ears escalates, Hartley manages a grin.

* * *

“Sue Dearbon.”

Ralph Dibny speaks the name out loud in his office to an audience of exactly zero people. Of course, the picture of Sue from her case file he’s tacked to his corkboard does not answer him, instead smiling deviously, _mockingly_ back at him as she always does. He can practically hear her _catch you later, Slick_ echoing through his office, and he frowns. 

“You sure are a hard nut to crack, huh?”

As he muses to himself, a knock at his door brings him back to his senses. When was the last time he had spoken to one of his friends? Perhaps his fixation on Sue is getting a little out of hand. (Perhaps a lot out of hand.) But he can’t just give up on her, no matter how many times she tricks him and slips out of his grasp. Ralph Dibny is a lot of things — former scumbag, current law-abiding PI, unusually stretchy — but not a quitter, _never_ a quitter.

He opens the door to find Frost standing there, dressed casually with a black pochette slung across her shoulder. Ralph can see the tip of her sketchbook poking out from the top of the bag, and he smiles. “Hey, Frosty,” he greets her amiably. “Glad you came by. What’s up?”

Frost raises an eyebrow. “When was the last time you slept?” she asks, glancing around his office at the mess of papers scattered across his desk. “Maybe now isn’t a good time for this.”

She’s tugging at her sleeve nervously, like she wants to speak but is holding herself back. Ralph senses it instantly. How could he ever turn her away in a time of need, no matter how exhausted he feels? “No, no, now’s a fine time.” He gestures to the sofa, then rushes forward to knock a stack of papers from the cushion onto the floor so Frost can sit down. “Er, don’t mind the mess. Comes with the business.”

“Uh-huh.” Frost doesn’t seem convinced but sits nonetheless, hands folded in her lap. Ralph sits beside her with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Okay, before I tell you this, uh —” Here she bites her lip, gaze cast to the floor. “You have to promise not to laugh, okay?”

“I would never,” Ralph says, and he means it. As someone used to being the butt of many jokes, Ralph understands how important it is to Frost to be taken seriously. If Barry Allen can have faith in Ralph’s abilities despite him being an elastic freak with a troubled past, it’s only fair that Ralph listens to Frost with that same dedicated seriousness. “I’m your life coach, after all. It’s my job to listen and not judge.”

“I know,” Frost says. “Anyway, it’s… actually about Kamilla. I’ve been thinking about the disaster that was the art show.”

“Hey, I know you feel guilty about all that, but there’s no need to keep perseverating over it.” He smiles sympathetically. “Kamilla was only upset because she didn't know you. She definitely understands you were just getting your bearing back then. She’s not taking it personally, so there’s no need to worry. The fact that you feel guilty just means you’re a good person.”

Frost sighs. “I appreciate that, Ralph,” she says. “But it’s not just that. Kamilla’s just… in a league of her own when it comes to having an artistic eye. I know I said rude things about her photos, but in truth, I found them really captivating. Much better than the crap I’ve been drawing,” she mutters as an afterthought as her hand settles to rest on her sketchbook. “I’m never going to be any good, Ralph, am I? I haven’t had enough time.”

 _And I never will._ Frost doesn’t say it, but Ralph can hear it as clear as day. “I know it sounds trite, but as long as you enjoy doing it, it doesn’t really matter how good you are. There's nothing to catch up on, so take it at your own pace.”

She shakes her head. “It’s — it’s not just about being good at art, Ralph. It’s about… Kamilla.”

“But I already said she —”

 _“Impressing_ Kamilla.”

_Ah. So that’s how it is._

“Well,” Ralph says with a cough, “I guess it was about time for me to update the Book of Ralph anyway.”

* * *

“The Flash, visiting me at work? To what do I owe this honor?”

Barry grins, setting the paper bag containing Iris’s lunch down on her desk. “The honor of a speedy Big Belly Burger delivery. Tips not necessary.”

Iris laughs, closing her laptop. “Good timing. My eyes were starting to blur reading these articles.” With a stretch, she rolls her chair back from the desk. “Honestly, it’s been hard to take breaks. Kamilla, Allegra, and I have been working overtime to gather as much information on Carver as we can, but he doesn’t feel like talking to the press — especially not about his illegally-hired metahuman assassins.”

Barry eyes her with concern. “You know, I could do a patrol myself before you guys go any further. Just a — you know, a quick in-and-out. He won’t even know I’m there.” His foot taps against the floor as though subconsciously itching to start running right then and there. “Well, I guess he probably has security measures in place against metas, so he may actually know if I’m there. But that’s still better than him knowing _you’re_ there —”

“Barry,” Iris says, gentle but firm. “Just because you survived Crisis doesn’t mean you have to do my job for me.”

He stops pacing — _ah. I started pacing,_ he realizes simultaneously. “I know, I know,” Barry says, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t — I’m not trying to do your job, I’m trying to keep you safe. What kind of a husband would I be if I let you walk into McCulloch Tech by yourself, knowing Carver is hiring assassins?”

She raises an eyebrow. “So I’m supposed to be okay with you getting attacked by assassins instead?”

“Well —”

Iris sighs. “If the metahumans get involved, I’ll call you — of course I will. But Carver himself is a regular human. I think I have the right to investigate him, as a regular human myself.”

Despite his worries, it’s hard to argue with her. “Okay, yeah, you do,” Barry admits. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

The words are somewhat lost on her, and he knows it. Iris becomes as reckless as Barry running through explosions when she’s following a dangerous lead. Still, Iris nods. “I thought I was going to lose you in Crisis,” she says. “What’s the point of you surviving if I run off to my death immediately after? We survived Crisis to be _together,_ Barry.”

He loves that warm twinkle in her eye — always has. With a smile of his own, Barry leans forward to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. “You’re right, of course.” The words ease his mind a bit, though his tendency to worry about Iris is still unparalleled. “But —”

_“Barry.”_

“Right, right.” Barry coughs. “I’ll stop fretting. I’ll, er, _try_ to stop fretting. I promise.”

But he doesn’t. He keeps fretting up until he leaves Iris to her work, and frets all the way back to S.T.A.R. Labs, after which he (fretfully) asks Cisco to check the case files of Esperanza Garcia and Kimiyo Hoshi one more time. 

None of it eases his mind. Not one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when four years ago I said I was hoping these two were out of my system? I lied. They're never out of my system.


End file.
